


See You Soon

by greenburgsucks



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Multi, Pre Season 3, Pre-Slash, Sad, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:43:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenburgsucks/pseuds/greenburgsucks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John cannot live without Sherlock. So he doesn't</p>
            </blockquote>





	See You Soon

Okay so basically I have no idea why I wrote this.

 

\----------------  
\----------------  
\----------------

One day at a time.   
Mrs. Hudson said for the 67th consecutive day in a row. 

She thinks these are words of comfort. She believes they are helping John get buy.

But they aren't. These words muttered to him every morning over tea just remind him of the terrible events that happened.  
\----------------  
Nightmares.   
Replaying the fall. Over and over and over again.  
Images of him with blood on his face, pooling around his usually luscious curly hair, now sticky with dark red goo.  
\-----------------

 

Unspoken words.  
Unused feelings, and riddles, and metaphors.

Everything is different now.

Everything is wrong.  
\----------------

 

John still hopelessly texts Sherlock. 

He still believes one day, Sherlock will be playing violin as he steps through the door with groceries that will only be half eaten, because Sherlock hardly ever eats.   
John still buys the extra food out of habit.   
Maybe Sherlock will be back and I can try to get him to eat.  
He thinks.

I miss you -JW 

He sends. Every Wednesday afternoon.  
It is almost a ritual now. But it does no good. And, deep down, he knows it does no good.

\--------------------

John is tired. He is tired of pity and sad smiles. He is tired of an empty flat ( other than Mrs. Hudson of course).   
But most of all he is tired of ordinary. He is done with being bored, and he needs Sherlock Holmes.   
He needs excitement, someone to constantly worry about, but Sherlock is gone.   
And it haunts John constantly.  
\----------------

One day, John is taking a walk. He sees a crime scene as he passes by, and notices Detective Inspector Lestrade.   
He frowns, being reminded of his times with Sherlock.  
It seems a lot of things are reminding him of his passed friend.

John goes home and stares blankly at the smiley face on the wall.   
He is done.  
\-----------------  
A few days later, it is Wednesday afternoon again and John is about to text Sherlock again. But this time it's different.   
He's decided it's over.   
It's been 75 days since Sherlock took his own life.   
He takes out a few pieces of stationary and begins a few letters.  
The first one is the easiest:   
Dear Mycroft,  
I know you and your brother never got along, but I am sure he didn't despise you as much as he makes it out to be.  
Or maybe he does, we will never know.  
But please do know that, I, despise you deeply and truly, more than he, or any other person. I have yet to understand why you were so idiotic, in giving Moriarty Sherlock's life story. Now he is dead. And he will never be able to fight with you again.

I started to write this letter as a note of forgiveness, but I realize, I can't forgive you. Because of you, Sherlock is dead.  
The man I love is dead. 

John Watson

The second letter was a bit more difficult:  
Dear Lestrade,

Sherlock was real. He was an honest man. He was an extraordinary human being.  
Thank you for believing in him.   
Tell Sally I said, "Fuck you."  
And maybe Anderson too.  
Tell everyone, anyone who will listen. He was not- is not- a fake.   
That man was pure genius. Which is why I love him so.  
Again, thank you.

Goodbye,  
John Watson

The third letter was the hardest:

My dearest Mrs. Hudson, 

Take care of yourself alright?  
Promise me you will take this, too, as one day at a time.  
You are a strong woman Mrs. Hudson. Stronger than I am.  
I cannot handle it. The pain of loss is too great.   
Sherlock was a remarkable man. He was gorgeously handsome, and genuinely, insanely genius.  
And I love him.  
I love him Mrs. Hudson, and I cannot last much longer without him.   
Life is boring and routine without Sherlock. Everything is quiet and just wrong.  
I need him. Sometimes I feel like I need him more than air. I just wish he were here, because I'm selfish, and I want him back.  
But he's not coming back, so I shall go to him. 

Please forgive me Mrs. Hudson.

Yours truly,   
John Watson

 

\-----------------

John shakily puts each letter into an envelope, with each different name on them.  
He's said goodbye to all but one person.  
He takes out his phone, and with shaky fingers types a message onto it.  
\-----------------

What he doesn't know is Sherlock is staring at his phone waiting for this text. Waiting to know John has survived another day. He is waiting for that sign that keeps him going.

His phone sounds. 

Goodbye. See you soon love - JW 

He bites his lips analyzing the message. His eyes widen and he runs quickly outside of his hotel room, not even bothering to get his coat.   
He hails a taxi and tells him the address:  
"221B, Baker Street"  
\-----------------

John chooses his poison. Gunshot.   
It's quickest and easiest, and it won't hurt for long. But first he decides to write one more letter.

Dearest Sherlock,  
No one will ever be able to convince me you are a liar. No one will ever be able to make me believe you are not genius.  
You are as clever as they come.  
You are strange, and scary, and downright rude at times. You can be blind to people's emotions, and sometimes you are a dick.  
But you, Sherlock Holmes, are absolutely incredible. You are outrageous at times, and I love you.  
I love you. I love you, i love you. IloveyouiloveyouIloveyouiloveyouIloveyouiloveyou  
I can't say it enough, but that is because now you can't hear it. You cannot hear me tell you how amazing you are or how handsome you look.   
I cant do any of these things because you are dead and I am alive.   
And it hurts. And I am tired.  
See you soon,  
John 

\-----------------

Sherlock cursed loudly when the taxi was caught in traffic. He immediately got out and ran.  
A cab ride would take 17 and a half minutes without traffic or stop lights from where he was, so running should take 23 minutes; 26 and a half tops.  
So he ran; he ran as fast as he could home. And he hoped that he would be fast enough.

\-----------------

John paced through the room. He thought about all the things that could go bad with this, but there were only two: leaving Mrs. Hudson all by herself, and never being able to solve another crime.   
He shook the second one out of his head; he doesn't want to solve crimes or investigate anything without Sherlock. 

John stopped pacing. He took a deep breathe and sat down on Sherlock's old chair. The chair he thought on, the chair he left behind to go cold and lonely.

He let a tear slip. 

John ran his fingers over the violin that will never be played again, and he kissed the skull goodbye. 

He sobbed.

He picked up his old gun with trembling hands. With tear-blurred vision and sobs shaking through his body, the only thing John could think about was Sherlock.  
"SherlockSherlockSherlockSherlockSherlockSherlock." he mumbled over and over again.

He grabbed the gun tighter, more surely, ready for his destination.

\-----------------

Sherlock reached the flat 22 minutes later. He hurried to unlock the door and stormed up the stairs as quickly as he could.   
Out of breathe he opened up the door to his room to find John, a sobbing mess, saying his name over and over again.   
Sherlock paced over to John as quickly as he could grabbing the gun and trying to stop him.

John in return started saying Sherlock's name louder. He wrestled with Sherlock over the gun, not noticing who exactly he was fighting for the gun with through his teary eyes.   
Once the gun was aimed enough at John to his liking, through the battle of possession, he pulled the trigger.

Luckily it had missed his neck, going deep into his shoulder.   
John smiled. Sherlock didn't.

Sherlock wiped the tears out of John's eyes so he could see clearly who it was.   
"Sherlock," he breathed with his smile growing. "I found you."  
Sherlock silently cried, "No, John, no."  
He sniffled, "No, John I'm alive, and you are too. Come on John you have to stay alive."

John's smile shrunk slightly. "But.. No you are dead and I was supposed come after. Yeah, you are dead, and I am dying. I love you Sherlock. I am so glad I get to see you again."   
He closed his eyes breathing deeply. Sherlock looked around at all of the blood seeping through John's clothes, and his own arm from putting pressure on the wound.  
About three or more pints. Mostly likely more, already flowing out of John's body. 

Sherlock called 999. 

6 minutes later, John was being carried out to an ambulance, while Sherlock thought to himself.

He thought about how stupid he was. Leaving John alone, to protect him. From what? Death. But looks like that didn't help much. He thought about how he was late. He is never late, why this time. Why not any other time? 

For a long while he cried. He cried and cried and cried. 

Then he thought about how pathetic he must look and sound.

So, then, he hailed a taxi and went to the hospital.

\-----------------

"I am looking for a John Watson," he said strongly to a nurse, as if he hadn't been crying for the past 20 minutes.

The nurse silently checked her computer. "I'm sorry sir, he is currently in surgery right now. You will have to wait."  
Sherlock nodded respectfully and sat down in the waiting room.  
\-----------------

A doctor walked into the waiting room. He had tired eyes and a formal looking clipboard.  
Main doctor: most trusted, most experienced. Seen several deaths, but it still affects him. Had someone in his family die in front of him, probably from cancer (cancer awareness band next to His expensive watch). He's not in that area of expertise, so he couldn't do anything. Probably his wife who died (wedding ring still on left hand, but middle finger).   
"John Watson," he called.  
Sherlock stood up taking long strides toward him.   
"We have retrieved the bullet from his shoulder. He lost a lot of blood from the wound: the bullet just barely missed his heart, but it did reach several veins and small arteries. We have him in a medical coma, but we need to do a blood transfusion soon or else he'll bite it."  
"what are the risks of a blood transfusion?" Sherlock asked already knowing.  
"60/40 not in our favor, but if we don't do it, Mr. Watson might not wake up anyways."  
Sherlock nodded, "Do it."   
The doctor sighed and agreed walking out back out of the waiting room.   
Sherlock sat down and ran his hands over his face.   
"Please, John, stay alive."

\-----------------

The same doctor retreated back into the room in which Sherlock was sitting. Sherlock immediately stood and walked over to him.

"Sir, the transfusion is complete, and we can only hope his body accepts the blood." he said bleakly.  
Sherlock nodded hesitantly at the doubt in his voice.   
CODE BLUE CODE BLUE

Alarm speakers screeched throughout the hospital. The doctor turned and ran in the same direction as many other nurses and doctors alike.   
Sherlock knew, down inside him, John was gone, but he didn't accept it until there was proof. He couldn't let go just yet.  
\-----------------

The same doctor, now accompanied by a familiar face, Molly, walked into the room deflated.  
"Sherlock," she breathed out ever-so-slightly, nodding towards him.  
"Molly," he said deadpanned.  
"Sir, I'm afraid.. Ehem.. I'm afraid that Mr. Watson's body rejected the transfusion. We normally wouldn't allow it, but if you would like to, Molly here will take you to see him." the doctor said.  
Sherlock nodded. He felt empty. He felt, probably, just like John did for those few months. Dead inside. A piece of yourself ripped out and destroyed.   
He followed Molly into the morgue: a place he has been in several times. But this time, it is different.

Molly walked out muttering something about privacy and final goodbyes.

Sherlock stepped towards the body and began what he was going to say, "You died not knowing the truth, John. I survived the fall.. I faked my death. But it was to keep you alive! I cared for you too much.. Moriarty said it was either I die or you do. Of course I saved you John. I loved you. This wasn't supposed to happen. You were supposed to be fine without me," he paused to wipe a few tears away. "Your texts every Wednesday assured me that you were 'okay', but now I see that you weren't. And I'm so sorry that I couldn't figure that out earlier. I guess I'm not as genius as people say I am," he choked on a few sobs and stepped closer to johns body. "I read your letter, John. Thank you for believing in me always. I'm sorry for leaving you. I love you too." he leaned down and pressed kisses all around John's unresponsive face. At last he reached his lips.   
"This should have happened long ago," he said before pressing a long, gentle, one-sided kiss to John's cold, dead lips.

 

"I'll see you soon"

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this during the hiatus and i suck man i really do and im too kazy to fix my mistakes s yeah i hope you like it.   
> also find me on tumblr   
> http://greenburg-sucks.tumblr.com/


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